Spooks Secret Santa
by alwayssomethingelse
Summary: Totally unseasonal humourous fluff, quite probably leading to even more fluffy H/R in the 2nd and 3rd chapters. What happens when Malcolm puts a finger in the pie of Secret Santa? Set Christmas 2005, aka in between 4/06 & 4/07.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** SSS - Spooks Secret Santa

**Characters**: Harry, Ruth, Malcolm, Colin, Zaf, Jo, Adam and Fiona.

**Disclaimer**: Spooks characters all belong to Kudos, sadly. This is purely for enjoyment...

**Synopsis**: Totally out of season, I know. But the idea struck... Based off the idea in the tie in book, Harry's Diary, that Harry and Ruth have been exchanging sneaky, but thoughtful birthday presents for the last couple of years, I wondered how that would work with Christmas... This will probably conclude with the Christmas Party, at which point I may well sneak out of canon (and climb a notch on the age rating bedpost as well.)

* * *

Briefing Room, Thames House, Dec 1st 2005

"Aaaaand if that's all, let's get to it!" Harry Pearce has only had one cup of tea this morning, and he feels it. There are no immediate emergencies so far; Ruth has gone through the weekly security updates, some of which have caused great humour amongst the team; Jo is beginning to feel a little more at home - and Zaf is certainly helping her there; Adam and Fiona arrived late, slightly rumpled - but grinning. All quiet on the western front.

"Actually..." Harry winces. Malcolm sounds far too chipper for his own good. Chipper shouldn't be allowed before the second cup of tea. "It is that season again, and this year, Colin and I have devised a piece of software to choose the Secret Santa names, instead of the old fashioned 'out of a bag' method. Less chance of tampering." He beams around the table, ostensibly oblivious to the less than positive reaction. "Everyone will find a secure, password locked, message waiting for them on their terminal. Once accessed, the message will self-delete after one minute, so make sure you remember who your intended target is. You have three weeks, we will have the exchange on the morning of the day of the Christmas Party, details of which will be forthcoming."

"Thank you Malcolm. I'm sure the team deeply appreciate the effort you and Colin go to." Harry firmly resists the urge to roll his eyes, twitches ever so slightly, and addresses the room at large. "Now, if that really is all, I have a meeting with the one and only Juliet in half an hour, and I'd like to get my armour plating on." They file out, with varying shades of eagerness. Jo and Zaf seem particularly keen to get to their terminals. Adam is smirking. Fiona looking thoughtful. Ruth's expression suggests that she has not yet forgotten last year's Secret Santa, when Colin got her a robotic dog, with realistic teeth. Fidget hasn't forgotten either.

Cup of tea in one hand, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, Harry checks his terminal. Stabs in the password. Stares. Well, this should be more engaging than finding a suitable present for Sam. Ideas start to formulate, and it is only when the voice on the other end of the line has begun to wonder if this is a prank call that he wakes up to reality.

Meanwhile, Jo looks at her monitor in consternation. How the hell is she supposed to get him anything he might possibly like? Of all people! Zaf is grinning to himself and keeps glancing at an inscrutable Adam. Fiona looks frankly unimpressed, and Colin... Colin is in a happy little dream world of his own creation. At his digital vantage point, Malcolm swells with pride. This year, he thinks, he has outdone himself. Then he notices that Ruth hasn't yet opened her instructions. His head poke up - no, she is at her desk. Avoidance. She still hasn't forgiven him for giving her Zoe last time. He smirks to himself. This year, she'll have a lot more fun, or he's missed his mark entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

Briefing Room, Thames House, Dec 21st 2005

It is the end of another meeting, and, once again, the team are about to stand up, when Malcolm clears his voice.

"I'd just like to remind you all that tomorrow is our Secret Santa exchange. Not that anyone will have forgotten, of course. I shall be leaving the sack by the water cooler tonight, before I leave. The exchange will, with Harry's permission, take place directly after tomorrow's morning briefing. As in previous years, I trust everyone will stick to the rule of not spying on who might be putting what in the sack - as you all know, it is far more intriguing to ascertain the provenance of your gift without that particular bit of information." He is glad to note that the reactions seem more positive than when he announced the allocations, even if certain people are smirking slightly at his request that they not do what is as natural as breathing to them.

"Ah, yes. That reminds me. Christmas dinner has been booked, for 7.30 tomorrow night. Thank you, Malcolm." Harry is bland in his comment, and only Jo seems confused by the information given. However, everyone else is filing out, making for their desks, and it is a few minutes before she can get Zaf on his own.

"Zaf? What did Harry mean? He told us what time it was booked for, but not where." His dark eyes wink back her, trying to keep his face straight.

"You're a Spook now Jo, what d'you think?" Her eyes widen with realisation.

"We have to find out where it is?"

"In one." Her face is priceless to watch, as it first drops, then an intrigued smile starts to build.

"I should have known. I take it we're not allowed to work in teams?"

"I imagine most of the others will, so I don't see why we shouldn't, if that's what you're asking?"

"Thanks Zaf."

* * *

The joy of being the organiser of these things, Malcolm thinks, is that he can leave his gift in the bag, with impunity. And, as he is the last to leave, there is no one to sneak a swift search in privacy. He hooks it on to the nail that is kept there from year to year, for this very purpose. It is the same sack that is used every year, has been since he started at Section D, all those years ago, when it was still housed in Gower St. There is something rather comforting about the ritual of hanging it up, rather like a child hanging up their stocking. He stands back to admire it, hanging quite lightly at this point - his gift this year is a small, light one. Something of his own making. He smiles in satisfaction, nods, and with one last glance around the Grid, turns out the remaining lights, and exits through the pods.

Ruth sits still in the dark of the briefing room for ten minutes. Just in case. But there is silence, above the faint whir of computer terminals, and eventually she deems it safe to move. She has no need of a torch - she knows the Grid too well for that - she moves swiftly and surely to the water cooler, and drops in a small envelope. There. One part accomplished. She leaves, just in time for the last bus.

All is dark and quiet on the Grid for an hour or so. Then, the pods hiss, and light is flicked on. He glances across to her desk - empty. Checks Malcolm's den - ditto. No one else wold be here at this time. He left "early", ostensibly going home, but in actual fact, to a comfortable nearby pub, where he has sunk a couple of pints, and enjoyed a game or two of darts with some of the other regulars. But the joy of being the Chief of Section D is that one can turn up at Thames House at any time of day or night, and security never raises an eyebrow. He places a jauntily wrapped file-sized gift in to the sack, and, honourably, does not check to see what else may or may not be there. He resists the urge to make for his office and pour over paperwork for a few hours - tomorrow will no doubt be a late one, and he's not as young as he once was. Besides, there is nothing urgent at this moment.

A cleaner comes in at 5.30am, slouching with mop and bucket. Plods around the Grid, apparently checking for noticeable litter. No one else is around, and Adam straightens, strides to the sack and drops in a small oblong parcel, about 10" long, and a smaller, softer one that drops with a faint jingle. He exits, shoulders slumped once more, and two minutes later can be seen to walk last Fiona, talking to another cleaner. They do not make eye contact, but she joins him at the store cupboard, as he sheds the uniform.

It is unusual for Zaf to be in early, but he has made the effort, and saunters in, yawning, at five past six. Walks to his desk, and gets down on his knees, fidgeting with something in the footwell. The sound of gaffer tape being pulled rips across the hum of electricity, but it's alright, he thinks, no one is here to hear it yet. He hunkers back on his heels and considers the parcel on his knees. He hopes she'll like it. Staggers to standing, and moves towards the parcel. He has just placed the gift inside, and is contemplating having a nosy, when the warning hiss reaches his ears, and he jumps away.

"Morning Malcolm! You're in early!"

"Actually, I'm a couple of minutes late. But I don't normally see you at this time Zafar."

"Well, you know how it is, work to get on with..."

"Indeed, nothing like a game to get Spooks serious about spying on each other." There is a twinkle in his eye that Zaf takes to mean Malcolm knows rightly what he just interrupted. The older man moves round and eyes the sack appraisingly. "Yes, it does look quite a bit fuller than when I left last night."

Harry strolls in at 6.30, speaks a word of greeting to the two men at their desks, and makes straight for his office. He doesn't even look in the direction of the water cooler. Adam and Fiona arrive at about 7, take away cups of coffee from the breakfast deli down the street in hand. Five minutes later, the pods hiss again, as Jo walks in, midway through removing her earphones. She shuffles round to the cooler, eyeing the other inhabitants of the Grid nervously, but none of them seem to be taking any notice whatsoever. There is no subtle way of doing this, she thinks, and with a shrug, drops her gift in. It lands with a soft thud.

She has just got herself sorted with a mug of coffee, and is contemplating the mystery of the party location, when Colin wanders in, iPod in hand, and makes straight for the water cooler - to get a cup of water, amazingly enough. Jo looks away, slightly ashamed that she appears to be the only one so interested in the contents of the sack, and who may be putting them there. Obviously, no one else is taking this all that seriously. A dull thunk jerks her head up, but nothing appears to have occurred - everyone else's heads are locked to their computer monitors, and Colin is just finishing off his drink.

It could be just another morning, really. Phones buzz, mugs clink, they visit each other's terminals, speak swift sentences before moving back to their own. Nothing out of the ordinary. At five to eight, Harry appears at his office door.

"Shall we get this ball rolling then?"

One by one, they gather folders and files, and move towards the briefing room. It is only when all of them have sat down that Ruth is missed.

"We're one short." Harry observes. "Has anyone seen our intelligence expert this morning? I'd hate to think she'd been kidnapped before receiving whatever thoughtful gift one of you has cooked up for her." A few grins, even a chuckle from Malcolm - which causes Jo to stare at him markedly. Adam is just starting to starting to respond that no, he hasn't seen or heard from her, when there is the sound of flustered scraping outside the briefing room door, and it opens shortly after, to reveal Ruth, midway to her knees, half her folders on the ground before her.

"Sorry everyone! The traffic was lousy this morning. Am I late?"

Harry beams across the table at her.

"I think we all know the answer to that, Ruth." And winks.

"Bit of an obvious ruse, to get to the water cooler unseen, eh?" Adam's tone is jokey, but Ruth looks up, all wide eyed and innocent.

"The water cooler...? Oh! That! I'd completely forgotten, should I go now?"

"Sit down Ruth, and let's get this briefing over and done with."


	3. Chapter 3

**Note**: If you get the literary reference suggesting who Harry's parents might be, please do let me know! (And if you do, forgive me, I know it's completely a/u, and highly improbable, it just amused me, and I needed a way for him to be able to give her _that_.)

Also, can you work out who has given who what? I've tried to make it clear without being obvious...

* * *

With air of a grand compere at a variety show, Malcolm leads the way to the sack. The team assembles behind him, falling in to a fairly natural semi circle. Adam has his arm round Fiona, Ruth is perched on a nearby desk, Harry standing just behind her. Jo seems a little tense, especially beside a very relaxed Zaf, and Colin is leaning on the pillar just the other side of the cooler. With a flourish worthy of Tommy Cooper, Malcolm dips his hand for the first time in to the sack. Picks out a soft package, reads the name out and tosses it to Colin.

"Happy Christmas!"

Next out is Fiona's - thin and flat, maybe 1 1/2'x8", muted wrapping paper. She raises an eyebrow, glancing at Adam. Malcolm digs deep next, and passes something hand sized over to Zaf, after glancing at the label. Harry receives an envelope, Jo a tissue wrapped handful, Adam a small box. Placing his own, slightly larger box, to one side, Malcolm hands Ruth an A4 package unseasonably wrapped in brown paper.

"Is that everyone? In which case, let the opening commence!"

They move apart slightly, each involved in their own gift. Jo is the first to gain access to hers, by dint of ripping the soft paper. A gasp suggests she is pleasantly surprised, as she looks down at the simple yet elegant necklace, comprising of lapis, real turquoise and silver beads. There is something middle eastern about it, and the silver is dusky rather than gleaming.

Zaf is grinning over a small piece of gadgetry, hand held, which he is fairly certain by the plug in it, has something to do with his car. Adam has sat down at his station to consider the cheap, out dated mobile that his box contains. It doesn't even appear to work properly. Fiona hasn't moved, and is staring at a mounted print of camels moving over a hilly landscape, in muted greens and purples, with a dark light in the sky. It's beauty stirs a memory in her, and she chokes slightly on her breath. Colin rips off the packaging as he moves back to the tech lab, uncovering an olive green t-shirt bearing the legend '_Licensed Member of / A.U.P.S.L.O.P.T.P. / Amalgamated Union of Philosophers, Sages, Luminaries and Other Professions Thinking Persons. / "Demanding Rigidly Defined Areas of Doubt and Uncertainty since 1981._"' A throaty chuckle comes from his direction, which only Jo hears, causing her to breathe a sigh of relief.

Three people take in none of this.

Malcolm has opened his box carefully, precisely. And stared. He's still staring, a full five minutes later, when Fiona and Adam are comparing, and Jo is asking Zaf if he is responsible for the necklace, something which he is truthfully denying.

"I don't believe it." His voice is quiet, and strangely hoarse. "It can't be."

Adam's head snaps up from Fiona's print, notices the look on Malcolm's face, and grins.

"Colin... Look at this!" The younger man comes back across the room, and stops in amazement.

"It isn't."

"It is."

"A Thing. A real Thing. I didn't think they could be got for love nor money."

Malcolm shakes his head.

"They can't."

"What you getting all worked up about Malcolm?" Adam has joined them.

"Adam, look... It's a Thing. A real, working... at least I presume it is... Thing."

"Yes, but what is it?" Jo is intrigued now.

Seeing Malcolm is unable to coherently respond, Colin steps in.

"The Thing, also known as the Great Seal Bug, was one of the first, greatest covert listening devices ever created. It was concealed in a carved wooden plaque of the seal of the United States, and given to the US Ambassador in the USSR, by the Young Pioneer's of the Soviet Union, supposedly as a gift of friendship. It worked perfectly, and would have worked indefinitely, if it hadn't been discovered, accidentally, seven years later, by a British radio operator. It is one of the finest pieces of espionage technology."

"Ohhh." Jo is still a little bit confused as to why Malcolm looks like he wants to stroke the small piece of equipment.

"Malcolm collects bugs." Colin adds, just in case.

"Ahh."

"I don't know which of you managed this, or how you managed it, but thank you, from the bottom of my heart." The words are stuttered out. Adam claps an arm round Malcolm's back and leads him to the nearest chair.

"I think you need to sit down, Malcolm." As he guides him on to the seat, he leans in and whispers, "and you're welcome."

Without waiting to see the older man's response, he saunters back to his own terminal, where the useless mobile phone is still sitting. It occurs to him to check if there's a sim already in the body of the phone, which there is. Plugging it in to the reader attached to his computer, he watches the contents copy across. It is an image. A voucher for a meal for two at Maze, a newly opened and much celebrated restaurant. He smiles.

Meanwhile, Ruth has moved to her own desk, away from everyone else. She had started to take the packaging off along with all the others, but a swift glimpse of what is hiding inside the perfectly normal file folder has told her of the need of just a little privacy. She stares at the contents, unblinking, unbelieving.

Harry watches her from across the Grid, and had anyone thought to look his way, they would have surprised a soft, almost tender expression in his eyes. He knows he will have to tell her that he didn't actually buy her present - it's been in the family since his mother gave it to his father, back in 1935. At a time when such things, though expensive, were not prohibitive. He will tell her. Just not quite yet. As if she senses him looking at her, Ruth glances up, meets his eyes for a fraction of a second, and blushes, deeply. Suddenly feeling like he has infringed upon her personal space, Harry looks around for something to take his mind, and spots the small, square envelope in his hand. Ah, yes. He opens it. A cheerful, improbably cute scene of a Robin eating black seeds scattered on snow. Inside the card is blank, except for a cut and pasted picture of a pair of ballet slippers. He frowns a little, and turns back to the image on the front. Looks at it enquiringly, trying to see if there is anything more of a message there. Then it occurs to him that the seeds the bird is eating are all too regular in the scattering. A slow smile starts to form across his lips. It is morse code.

.. -. -.- - ..- .-. - .-.. .-.. .. -.-. .

Only Ruth sees him move towards his office. Open the door. Step in. Close it. Still clutching her own gift, to her chest, she gives him a minute or two, and walks over. The others are now crowded around Adam's terminal, presumably comparing their presents and guessing the provenance.

At first, when she slips in through the door, there is no sign of him. But as she knows there isn't another exit, he can only be under the desk - which is exactly where she expected him to be.

"Harry?" Her voice is low, but not a whisper.

"Woof!" comes a less than human response, and as she moves round behind the desk, she finds him, on the floor, one knee crooked up, the other out straight, being lavishly, loved by a very excited six month old wire haired Jack Russell terrier. An abandoned luxurious red doggy bed can be seen on the other side of them.

"Ruth, you witch!" He grunts in between licked kisses, "this is your doing, isn't it?"

She cannot help but smile briefly at the sight before her, and does not answer his question, instead fixing him with an intent stare.

"Harry, you can't give me this. It's far too valuable."

Involved in cuddling his new found friend, it takes him a moment to reply. Perhaps he is considering his answer.

"If I had bought it, that might - and I only say 'might' - be the case. But you can relax, I didn't. It was my father's, I've had it lying around the house for years. No one else in the family wants it, and I'd like to see it in the possession of someone who will appreciate it - not for it's monetary value, but for what it is, and for what it says." She is still looking mutinous. "Ruth, please accept it in the spirit it was given. And have the grace to admit to being the cause of my current chaos." She continues to stare grimly at him for a few weighted seconds, before the young dog manages to lick him behind the ear, which is clearly a sensitive spot for him, and in wriggling away, he ends up sprawled on his back on the floor. At this, laughter bubbles out of her, loudly. The commotion has reached the rest of the team by now, and they come crowding in to see what is going on.

* * *

It is somewhat later that each member of the team has calmed down and returned to their work. Scarlet, as she has been named by Harry, is ensconced on his lap, a bowl of water and a bowl of half eaten food over by the back wall of his office. Heaven forbid the Home Secretary, or worse, Juliet, should pay a visit, he thinks.

Malcolm stops Ruth, on his way back from the canteen with a cup of tea.

"In all the excitement, I never asked. What did you receive?" He is sharp enough to notice a faint tinge of pink rise in her cheeks, although she controls it swiftly.

"I...err, got a letter. A manuscript. Nothing fancy." He knows she is lying, and she knows he knows, but Malcolm is fond enough of her not to press the matter too much. Anyway, he wants to babble with delight about the new addition to his collection. When he moves away, Ruth draws out the file once more, and contemplates the contents.

It is an original, signed, letter from the metaphysical poet, John Donne, to a Lady parishioner, on the subject of Divine and human love.


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, so I was originally intending to have this done in three chapters... Realistically, it'll be more like six... ;-)

**Thank you for the lovely reviews and comments!**

* * *

Harry stands at the bar, looking round him in pleasure. It is a good location choice for a work night out, even if he does think so himself. The bar is at the front of the building, with a few high stools at it, and a number of tables and matching stools, for customers waiting, like he is, for the rest of their party. The walls are a mix of old red brick and dark wood panelling, with a few old prints that are eye catching without being ostentatious. Then there is an archway, which leads in to the restaurant proper. It is a large square room, with wooden panelled, open booths with tables, around the edges and a dance floor in the middle. The room is unusual for two reasons: above the booths, around the edge of the room, runs a miniature train line, with three or four beautiful model steam trains - these run the whole way into the bar and back; and the ceiling over the dance floor is glass, looking straight up in to the night sky. On the cold, crisp, longest night that this is, the half moon and even a few stars can be seen. The place isn't over decorated for the season, but the twinkling fairy lights and a few carefully placed baubles are cheery without being tacky. Yes, it is a good choice. And the selection of wines and spirits is superb. He opens the tab, and orders a bottle of Cahor Noir red wine, and a white Burgundy, to start with, and watches the clock over the bar.

She walks in, alone, and spots his unmistakable back, one arm on the bar, the other hand holding a glass of red wine. He's changed into a dinner jacket, and the little wispy hairs at the back of his head which were flyaway earlier, from his roll on the floor with Scarlet, have been tamed down. A waiter comes to take her coat, and the noise makes him turn around, a broad smile breaking when he sees who it is.

"You look lovely." And so she does, in an dress with a full skirt reaching to her calves, little capped sleeves and a squarish open neckline. The material seems to be indigo taffeta, patterned with little silvery white flowers, and it makes her eyes seem deepest blue. Her hair is down, just touching her shoulders, and she's wearing a minimum of makeup. But his comment, or his approving glance, have made her blush, and she's looking at her feet, at the bar, and in fact, at anywhere but him. "Ruth."

"Yes Harry?" Now she meets his eye, the dusky pink still in her cheeks.

"Thank you for Scarlet. That was a most inventive gift, and completely unexpected. Although, I am wondering if you're hinting that I need a little more exercise."

"I...didn't mean it that way. I, um, just thought...I mean, you seem like a dog person, and when I found out that you don't have one, I thought..."

"I'm very glad you did." He looks around, and gestures to a table by the window. "Shall we make ourselves comfortable, while waiting for the others? And what will you have to drink?"

"Red, please." She moves over to the furthest stool, and sits facing the room. The tables are wrought iron, with marble tops, and Harry places a coaster underneath the glass he puts in front of her. She nods her "thanks" and gazes out of the window. By the light of a nearby street lamp, she can see another familiar figure approaching, and Ruth feels suddenly, undeniably, relieved. As Harry sits down beside her - almost uncomfortably close - she comments "here comes Malcolm...and Colin." The words are hardly spoken before the two men have pushed open the door, handed their coats to the waiter, and joined them.

Colin feels the nearly imperceptible nudge from his friend's elbow as they walk in. Yes, he knows, he can see it too. He also sees how well they've brushed up, and feels a little self conscious. He can't help it, he looks like he's trying to be James Bond if he wears a black DJ, so he's resorted to a smart enough navy suit jacket, and even a matching tie. Malcolm, on the other hand, is impeccable, in his vintage tuxedo and bow tie. There's something ridiculously formal about how they greet each other - hands are shaken, Malcolm even kisses Ruth on the cheek, telling her she looks beautiful. _You'd never think think we all left the Grid together only a couple of hours ago_. Harry is pouring their wine, and they're sitting down when Adam and Fiona walk in - and this, Colin thinks, is exactly why he didn't want to look like he was trying to be the famous agent. Adam does it without even trying, and Fiona on his arm is so glamorous, in a ruby red organdie cocktail dress, cut just low enough to be alluring, and fitted tightly to her curves.

More handshakes, more kisses, Fiona makes a fuss over Ruth's dress, and the latter tries to respond in kind. Adam orders a couple of martinis at the bar, with a twinkle in his eye. Pokes at Malcolm's bow tie to see if it's properly tied; asks Harry if he hasn't brought his new lady friend. Fiona sits on the other side of Harry, straight backed and elegant, diamonds dangling down from her ears, extenuating the line of her neck. Places a hand lightly on his knee as she tells a joke. Colin can't help but notice two reactions to this: Harry's gentle smile of stunned appreciation at having a beautiful woman on either side of him, and Ruth's colour dropping and rising swiftly as she tears her eyes away from Fiona's hand.

Finally, a well polished Zaf is holding open the door for Jo, looking sophisticated in crushed black velvet and a plunging neckline. More jokes are made, fun poked in all directions, until the waiter invites them through to their booth. When they have perused the menu, and given their selections in, and Harry and Adam have debated the merits of one wine over another, Harry looks round the table and asks with a grin,

"Now we're settled, how did you all find the location?" Jo and Zaf look round the other's faces to see if this is serious, but it appears that 'show and tell' is indeed a part of the night's entertainment. "Malcolm, I'm guessing you put a trace on my calls?"

"Old habits die hard, Harry. It has worked every year for the last fifteen. Why fix something when it isn't broken?"

"Indeed. And no doubt Colin was in on that?" The younger man nods, a little bashfully.

"But I could have tracked you quite easily, Harry."

"I doubt that."

"No, really. In fact, I did put a tracker on you. As a back up. Not that I thought Malcolm's method would fail, of course."

"You did, did you? Well that can be proved. Where is it?" Colin has the decency to blush, as he replies,

"Inside the cuff of your greatcoat. It's sending a signal to my monitor on the Grid, which I've rigged to send me a text if you went outside of this block by 7.15. Which you didn't, of course." Harry nods, possibly in approval, Colin can't be quite sure.

"Now, Adam, I know you tailed me for a while when we left work - I couldn't help feeling that was a little futile, as you know full well where I live."

"That was only to put you off the scent, Harry. As a matter of fact, we were counting on Malcolm doing exactly what he did, and we were ready and waiting when he left home." He grins round the table, looking lastly at a rather embarrassed Malcolm. "Cheers mate!"

"Any time." His voice is a little clipped, and he's struggling to save face. No spook likes to admit they've been followed without realising it at all. But Fiona steps in with grace, and a wicked grin,

"Although, Harry, I must confess, I put a tracker on you too. Just as a precaution." He rolls his eyes overtly and sighs in feigned resignation,

"Where was it?"

"In your mobile. You left it on my terminal when we were exchanging presents." She looks at him under her eyelashes, "I hope you'll forgive me."

"We'll see about that." He's fishing in his pocket for the offending piece of technology. Sure enough, underneath the battery is a small tracker. He removes it and hands it back to Malcolm. "Remind me to give you the other one later." And turns his attention to the youngest members of the party. "Please tell me you were more inventive?"

"Well, actually..." Zaf begins, before Jo cuts him off,

"Yes, we were. I had a chat with your driver, and found out from him where he was booked to take you."

"Oh really? I'll have to have a word with him about withstanding the charms of beautiful women at the water cooler. However, that doesn't tell me how you managed to be just on time, considering he was told he was taking me somewhere totally different." Now Harry looks quite satisfied with himself. "How did you get out of that one?" It is Zaf's turn to colour.

"Well, I didn't totally trust the driver. So I dropped a tracker in to your coat pocket. That's why we were only in the nick of time."

"Hells bells, am I safe from anyone on the team? Ruth, tell me, did you have a bug on me too? Where was it? In the tea you brought me at lunch?" Maybe it's the glass of wine on an empty stomach, maybe it's the spirit of the evening, but Ruth looks up completely unabashed, into a table of waiting eyes.

"I did no such thing. You had a picture of the train sets in the file you used for briefing this morning, and then, when you were talking about the location of that new asset, you mentioned his street twice, except the second time it was wrong, it was this street. I had no need to track you." Harry claps his hands together in exultation. "But," Ruth adds, emboldened, "if that had failed, I'd have phoned you and asked." He guffaws, and the rest of the team join in the laughter just just as the starters begin to arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes**: Technically, the last two songs they dance to in my head, are songs that weren't released then, so I haven't named them... But, if you want the same soundtrack as me... It's _I don't feel like Dancing _by the Scissor Sisters and _Read all about it Pt 3_ by Emeli Sandé...

**Disclaimer: **Neither the Spooks characters, nor the various italicised lyrics belong to me. (They belong to Kudos and their respective bands/singers/copyright holders.) No copyright infringement is intended, this is pure fluffy entertainment, and I'm not making any money from it...

* * *

The meal has been a lovely one, and the wine has flowed freely. It is a good thing none of them are driving, as more than twelve empty bottles have already been removed by the waiting staff. Somewhere between the main course and dessert, the lighting has subtly changed round the centre of the room, and the music, which had been gentle piano, has taken on a much bouncier tune. Augmented by backing tracks and a good singer, it is shaping up to be quite the party. Already, some of the other patrons have taken to the dance floor, moving to the selection of mostly classic pop.

They are sipping contentedly at freshly brewed coffee, and telling awful jokes from just pulled crackers, when Jo's eyes light up in recognition at the song that has just started playing.

"Come on!" She's pulling at Ruth and Fiona, one hand on each of them, and they laughingly acquiesce, falling out on the floor with her. Malcolm twitches slightly and remarks to the table at large,

"I never could abide the Nolan Sisters. Far too cheerful for their own good." Zaf is smirking at Adam, and Harry grins, extricates himself from the very back of the booth and ambles through to the bar, carefully avoiding the dancers. Within minutes he's back, with a bottle of Laphroig Scotch, and a handful of tumblers.

"Perhaps this will help ease the pain."

"Really Harry, I don't think I should. I've already had a little too much as it is." But Harry isn't listening, he's poured them both a generous shot, and handing one to Malcolm, tilts his head and considers the amber liquid before downing it. Malcolm shrugs, making the best of a bad deal. It is Christmas after all. He follows suit.

_And heaven who knows just where it will end..._

"I'd never have thought it of Ruth." Adam remarks to the table at large, and four sets of eyes swivel to the dance floor, where the bright lights are catching on the silver of her dress, and Ruth is caught in the moment, twirling, barefoot, under Jo's arms, laughing for the sheer joy. Colin is the only one to notice Harry's little smile, as he reaches for the bottle. There's a glint in his eyes that the younger man has seen before; the same look that made him open the book on the pair of them. He catches Zaf's eye and winks.

The music is changing, to Dolly Parton's 9 to 5, and shrieking, the girls come rushing back to the table, pulling at Adam, Zaf and Colin. Fiona is the first to be successful - Adam's always happy to grasp a chance at dancing with his beautiful wife. With a laughing protest, Zaf gives in to Jo quickly enough. Colin struggles a little more, but against Ruth's joyful stubbornness, it's futile, and he stumbles down on to the dance floor. Malcolm shakes his head remorsefully.

_It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it..._

"It's all downhill from here, Harry." His boss doesn't reply, too busy choking down the inexplicable jealousy that's rising in his chest. Noticing his frown, Malcolm sympathetically pours them both another glass, before beckoning the waiter and asking for a new jug of water. That is enough to rouse the other man.

"Good God man, you're not such a philistine as to water your whisky, surely?" The look of outrage is so comical Malcolm cracks a grin.

"Not at all. But the dancers will need refreshment, and they'd be better with water." He's quite right. At the end of the song, when the tune changes to something slower, more romantic, all six return to the table, panting, Ruth carrying her abandoned heels, not bothering to put them back on. Everyone but Adam takes a glass - cooly, he appropriates one of the tumblers and pours himself a shot. Colin works himself to the back of the table, trying to get out of harms way.

Harry can't help but watch Ruth, as she blows her hair out of her face, wipes her forehead and laughs at Jo. There is a pleasing flush to her cheeks, and her eyes are glistening. The dimple to the right of her lips is firmly pronounced as she giggles appreciatively at some comment he can't hear. He's never seen her this relaxed. Their first Christmas night out after she started, she was still so new and so nervous that she hardly drank at all, and remained quite reserved. Last year, none of them felt like much of a party, not after Zoe's departure. They'd had a meal alright, but it had been a quiet affair. Not like this... She catches his eye and blushes more deeply, and Harry realises he's been staring, and glances away. The piano is breaking into a Dusty Springfield number now, and Adam and Fiona have slipped away to enjoy themselves.

_You've started something, oh can't you see?_

Ruth looks at Harry for quite some time after he looks away from that shared moment, knowing that the heat she's feeling is not entirely to do with the rising temperature of the room. And she's not the only one feeling it; his tie has come off, top button opened on his shirt. He's chatting with Malcolm now, she can't hear what they're saying over the volume of the singer, but it doesn't really matter. It's just nice to watch him being so relaxed and cheerful. Not something he gets an opportunity for much in work. The whisky bottle is half empty by now, and yet he's not really that drunk. If she were more sober, she'd worry herself about the effect of a resistance to that much alcohol, but as it is, it doesn't seem to matter that much.

_As long as we're together, I don't care_.

She turns her gaze to Adam and Fiona, lost in a little world of their own, held tightly together, swaying; but not before Zaf has noticed her expression, and nudged Colin. She can't help but feel a little jealous of the dancing couple, so clearly, completely, overwhelmingly in love with each other.

"Not so you, eh Ruth?" She jerks her attention back to the table.

"What's that?" Harry laughs, a little uproariously, and repeats himself;

"Malcolm was just saying that it's his opinion that the field agents are the dancers in this section...I was pointing out that you're quite the twinkle toes yourself." He's smiling his slightly lopsided grin, and although the words might be poking fun, she can see the expression in his eyes is one of tender warmth.

"Mmhmm, maybe." She grins back at them all. "We'll see about that. Come on!" She's moved round the table and is pulling at a defiant Malcolm to join her for the song that's just started.

"What? No! I can't dance to this! I'm far too old."

"It only came out in the early nineties! This is my youth, give over Malcolm!" But he is determined, and she ends up flopping down in to the seat beside him, grabbing over her half empty glass of wine. "Fair enough, but as soon as something from the 80s comes on, you're coming with me, old or not." Jo and Zaf are giggling like children at this, until Malcolm glares at them. Unable to contain themselves, they fall out on to the dance floor, passing Adam and Fiona walking back, hand in hand.

"What have we missed?" Adam looks brightly round the table.

"Only Ruth showing her determination to prove all our assumptions about her wrong." Harry's winking at her as he responds, and she falls into the banter willingly enough.

"Whereas Harry is living up to all our assumptions about him... Can't dance, won't dance?" He pretends to look hurt, but the twinkle in his eye gives him away.

"Nobody ever accused me of being good on my feet, now did they?"

"Well you're certainly not proving nobody wrong."

"Just you wait, Miss Evershed, I'll extract my revenge yet, for your cool disregard of my authority..."

"Is that a threat, or a promise?" She catches herself on the last words. It's the wine speaking. It has to be. She would never dream of saying something like that when sober. "I...I'm sorry..." she mutters, but Harry is laughing freely, and the rest of the table are pretending not to notice that the temperature has just risen a few bars. Luckily, the song changes, to an instantly recognisable Meatloaf.

"Come on Malcolm, no excuses now! This is more than old enough for you." He lets himself be pulled out, more out of sympathy for her clear embarrassment; although he's made a mental note to change his odds on the lads' book.

He's not a bad dancer, actually, whatever he might have said at the table. They move into a fast, swinging jive that puts many of the other dancers to shame. Her dress is made for this kind of dancing, rising up with the twirling, never indecent but just suggestive enough. Meanwhile, Fiona has her eye on Colin, and before he's half realised what's happening, she has him on the dance floor, putting him through his paces. She's pretty talented, Jo thinks, watching them from the table, given she can dance the lady's part whilst putting the man perfectly in his place. It's quite a skill, especially when your partner is someone like him, who has two very distinct left feet.

"Well if a 1980 song is old enough for Malcolm, I dread to think what would get you up, Harry." Adam has a glint in his eye that suggests he knows full well what would get Harry up - and it isn't a song.

_But you're everything I'm dreaming of..._

"Oh, nothing short of Elvis would do for me, i'm afraid." It's banter, and Harry doesn't notice Zaf's eyes shoot towards him, briefly. Nor does he pass comment when the young man leaves the table, ostensibly to go to the bar. He's pouring himself the last of the whisky, and determining that, no matter what the next song is, he's going to ask her to dance. It's now or never, as the night is progressing fast, and the bar will shut soon. Zaf is back, with a couple of beers for himself and Colin, and another bottle of red wine. Nobody except Jo noticed him stop off at the piano.

"What did you do?" She whispers in his ear.

"Me? Nothing?" The innocence doesn't fool her, but she understands quickly enough as the music transitions, and Harry starts pushing his way out, passing a newly escaped Colin.

_Well it's a one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready; now go cat go!_

Ruth first spots his hand, tapping on Malcolm's shoulder.

"Allow me." She barely hears the words over the music, but Malcolm chivalrously steps aside, to be caught up by Fiona, who spins away with him. In a pause that seems to lasts lifetime, Harry looks her in the eye, takes her hand, and slides his other round her waist. It feels warm and secure there, and if there is a slight tremor, she doesn't notice. And then she's being moved in a way she never thought possible. Twinkletoes indeed? She feels like Ginger Rogers, caught up in the arms of Fred Astaire. Away, back, passed round behind, spun... and he doesn't even break a sweat. His hands are warm and dry, firm without being tight. She catches little glimpses of him, crystal clear in the midst of the spinning; at some point, he's opened another three buttons, and she can see dark golden chest hair peeking out. Her heart almost stops, except it can't, not at the speed they're moving.

_Well you can do anything..._

Somehow, he manages to have her in the right place every time, not matter how complicated the step, or how fast they move. At one point they're hopping backwards, his right arm tight around her waist, his left hand clasping her right, and then, again, she's twirling away and back, close in to him. She can feel his breath, his chest pound; smell his aftershave, and the slightest tang of perspiration. Her stomach feels like it's melting. His hold never falters, and she finds herself wishing that it never will.

The music changes, to something much more contemporary, but with a real seventies disco vibe. Ruth feels a sudden fear that he's going to leave her now, stop this, and the thought is unbearable. But no, he's paused, only to consider for a moment, and then she's moving again, a slightly different tempo, riskier stretches in the throws, and tighter into his arms as he pulls her back in. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Jo and Zaf moving happily, and Adam and Fiona cutting quite a dash; then she's close to his lips, and Harry's whispering;

"ready for a lift?"

"What?" But she's already at arms length, and then being pulled in and up, and her feet are off the ground and her hips are on his, and the force of motion has brought her knees in to his back, and then she's touching down again, breathless, but still moving spinning away from him again. When he pulls her back close, she can feel his heart pounding against her breast, and he's speaking;

"We could do the other type of lift, but..." she's away again, he's passing her round behind him, swapping his hands in hers, fingertip tracing over her palms in a split moment, and then she's close to him again;

"but I'll need your help." She nods, too breathless to speak. He pushes her away parallel, keeping hold of both of her hands this time, and they swing in, side to side, as he tells her what they're going to do. Three times in, and out, and on the fourth, as she moves in, she's ready to jump when he says "now!" and she's up, his hands on the small of her back, her legs around his hips, her feet in the air, the top half of her falling backwards, secure in his hold. It's only momentary, but as he lowers her back down, and pushes her out, she could swear she felt something she shouldn't have. But they're still moving, around, and under each others arms, hands tight on each other, eyes locked, only breaking for a moment when he twirls her. By the end of the song, she's in his arms and they're panting deeply.

The music softens into a power ballad, but it has a lovely rhythm, and it seems that now Harry has got dancing, nothing is going to stop him. Still breathing deeply, they move in time to the mournful piano, slower pushes away, slower spins, each pull in seeming like it takes a lifetime; but losing nothing of the tension of the faster dances. She cannot break her gaze from his face, and his expression is hard to read, lips slightly parted, brown eyes fixed on hers. She doesn't notice Adam and Fiona breaking off their dance to go and sit down, or the fact that the dance floor is substantially emptier than previously. Nothing else matters but the sway of their bodies, and the touch of their hands.

Adam squeezes himself in beside Colin and Zaf, and with a grin, asks

"Is it too late to change my odds on your book lads?"

"I dunno mate, you're a bit late off the mark, Malcolm changed his when we walked in this evening, Jo upped her odds at Blue Suede Shoes. It's going to cost you." Colin grins at his co-conspirator's methods. Fiona rolls her eyes, and leaves the table.

"It'll still be worth it, I'll bet." They fix a deal.

The dance finishes, and Harry bends his lips to her ears, whispers something that only she can hear: the team see a smile, a nod; and then they separate, him to the bar and her to the ladies. She's just pushing through the door as Fiona is blotting her lips in front of the mirror, and putting her lipstick back in her bag. She smiles knowingly at Ruth.

"Having fun?"

"What? Oh, yes. Bit cold, though..."

"You think so? I thought the temperature was rather warm, myself." And with an inscrutable glance, she exits the room, leaving Ruth alone, to gather herself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: **Pure A/U fluff in this chapter! I think it's still safely T rated, albeit the higher end of T.

**Thank you** for the reviews and support, it's all very much appreciated! I hope you enjoy it! :)

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Harry ambles back from the bar with a double Scotch, yet more ice water, and a slightly dazed smile on his face. Seeing Ruth hasn't returned yet, he tops her wine glass up with the bottle on the table, and pours a glass from the jug. He has a glass of water himself, before turning his attention to the whisky. Just as Ruth appears from the ladies, the last orders bell rings and Adam looks round questioningly;

"Shall I get us another couple of rounds, or are we going elsewhere?" Malcolm shakes his head.

"Not for me, I'm afraid, I'm too old for this and it's well past my bedtime as it is."

"I'm with Malcolm" Ruth nods, "this glass will do me nicely - thank you Harry - and then I'll be off home." She doesn't hear Jo's whisper to Zaf of

"Really, I thought she was with Harry." But Adam does, and he elbows her.

"What about you two party animals?"

"I'm up for going somewhere else, if you are?" Zaf grins his agreement, and Colin nods.

"How about coming back to ours?" Fiona puts the question out. "It's way too late to get entrance to anywhere decent now.

"Not a bad idea" Adam concurs. "What about you Harry? Will you join us, or are you too old and boring?"

"Far too old and _tired_, thank you Adam. Just remember, I expect to see you all the Grid bright and early..." There's a twinkle in his eye, and the table take his remark with much laughter.

"So two taxis, then? One can take the three Cindarellas to their respective beds, the other to bring the rest of us onwards. Shall I book them?" There is general acquiescence.

He has just come back to the table when the singer announces the last song. As the opening notes of Fairytale of New York ring out, the entire group stand, barring Malcolm - who is promptly pulled, pushed and generally manhandled on to the dance floor. Adam grabs him on one side, Jo on the other, and they manage some bizarre form of twisting and spinning two-step. No one is surprised to see Harry and Ruth partner off, and meanwhile Fiona and the lads shuffle and bop in time. As the music blends seamlessly into New York, New York, the entire floor full of dancers opens out in a wide circle, hands grasping for the next person, and, in very uneven fashion, they rush in and out, legs kicking up, not quite in time to the beat. Colin manages to be the only one lifting the wrong leg, each time. Even Malcolm cracks a grin at this, and Adam and Zaf are practically doubled up. Nobody notices Harry bend his lips to Ruth's ear, and only she hears the whispered words;

"I'd like to dance more with you..." She smiles inwardly, and responds only by tightening her grip round his waist.

Finally, the song is over, the piano stops, the crowd dissipates, and the lights start to come up. Drinks are downed, coats are fetched, Ruth puts her shoes back on, and Harry sorts the bill. They don't have long to wait outside before the taxis arrive, and goodbyes are said, punctuated with hugs and kisses all round.

Secure in their taxi, Malcolm gives his own address, as the nearest, and Harry's as the next, then turns to his boss with a mischievous grin;

"I think you have something of mine. Two things, in fact." The other man grimaces, and reaches into his greatcoat pocket. Sure enough, when his hand comes out, there is a minuscule tracker. Then he searches underneath the collar, and removes the other offending piece of electronics. Both of these he drops in to Malcolm's waiting hand. "Thank you. Wouldn't want to think we were tracking the Chief of Section D round the city. Who knows what secrets you'd give away." He's grinning broadly, and Harry laughs abruptly; neither notice the relief and embarrassment that flash in quick succession across Ruth's face.

Once Malcolm has got out, with more warm farewells and laughing promises of being on the Grid at his usual six am, and the taxi has pulled away, Harry slides over to Ruth's corner.

"So, would you like to dance some more, Miss Evershed?" He watches the side of her face intently, as she struggles to keep staring out of the window, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

"That really depends on where you're thinking of, _sir."_ She cannot believe what she's saying, how she's responding... She cannot even begin to credit the fact that he came to dance with her - not to mention how it felt. She's had more than her fill of wine tonight, and the exertion hasn't sweated all of it out, leaving her emboldened, and prepared to do things she might otherwise only contemplate in her most secret fantasies. He's whispering in her ear again, the brush of his lips almost tickling.

"Well... I have quite a large sitting room, although my music collection might not be to your liking..."

"Perhaps I'll just have to take that risk?"

"This isn't a Spook taxi, I take it?"

"No, I checked."

"Well then, shall we continue the Christmas party at mine?" Finally, she turns to look at him, noses only centimetres apart. She can feel his breath on her lips.

"That would be lovely." The words are quietly spoken, melting around his ears. She continues to meet his gaze, steadily, but with a flush deepening on her cheeks. Those liquid brown eyes are mesmerising, and she can't help feeling that he sees more than he is letting on. She shivers, at that thought; alone, in a taxi, with her boss who she happens to find hugely attractive. There are some thoughts that should be kept hidden from the x-ray vision of Harry Pearce. But her shiver elicits concern in him, and before she knows it, he's spreading his greatcoat over her knees, his fingers pausing just a moment on the top of her hand.

"Definitely need some more dancing, to warm you up." His voice is husky, suggestive, and his mouth is still so close to hers. Without being in control of her actions, Ruth leans towards him and brushes his lips with her own. Before she has a chance to move away, he's brought his hands to her cheeks, and is kissing back, firmly, decisively. She can taste the whisky, smell his skin where it's touching her nose, and now her hands are on his back, moving with a mind of their own. It is him who breaks it off, first, pushing himself away, all the while keeping her gaze.

"Is this...Is this ok?" She giggles, girlishly, the laughter spilling out like liquid joy.

"I'd say it's more than ok, wouldn't you?" Her hands are on his hips, loosely, but she can feel the heat radiating from underneath the fine cotton shirt.

"Yes...Of course, but..."

"...I am a grown woman, and I'm not so intoxicated that I don't know what I'm doing. Just... more open to the the possibilities."

"I have to warn you, Ruth... If we go much further, I don't know if I'll be able to stop. I need to know you're ok with that... If we do this, we do it together." It would sound so formal, so proper, if it weren't for the sensuality with which he whispers. Her only response is to pull him back to her, one hand snaking up his back, palm flat and fingers stretched wide. The other she moves to his thigh, delicately, softly, almost tickling. He wonders just who is seducing who, as their lips meet again.

This time, their kiss is broken by the slowing of the taxi as it goes over the speed bumps on Harry's road. The car comes to a stop outside his house, and while Ruth collects herself, and tries to steady her breathing, Harry settles the tab.

As the taxi drives off, Harry holds the gate open, and gestures for her to go ahead. She does, but slows so that they walk up the path together, elbows touching. She laughs quietly, the sound seeming loud in the otherwise peaceful street.

"What?"

"I...I can't quite believe it. This. You. Me. Dancing..." the laughter stays in her voice, and bubbles over again. "Tell me I'm not dreaming, Harry, that this isn't a dream, and I'm not about to wake up. Tell me." He chuckles gently, leans down and swiftly whispers in ear;

"Not a dream, and when I get you inside, I'll prove it."

"Promises, promises!" At this, he touches his lips to her temple, causing her to shiver again; glides an arm round her shoulders and swings her in to him; with the other hand he works at getting his key out, and into the door. That achieved, he pulls her in, still grasping her body tight to his, and the door slams shut. The persistent beeping of the alarm doesn't allow them immediate freedom, though, and it is only when his code has been entered and his thumb scanned that he can fully turn his attention to the beautiful woman standing before him.

"You'll see I always keep my promises, Ruth." He leans in, and she lifts her head, fully expecting another kiss; instead, his lips meet the top of her ear, and a soft sigh escapes her as she feels the tip of his tongue trail down the edge, to her lobe, which he sucks gently for a moment, and then gives a quick nip.

"See? Not a dream."

She could easily fall into him, then and there; his warm, comforting chest, protective arms, and firm grasp, and in fact, is about to intimate this when he takes her by the hand and leads her in to the kitchen, where a highly excited Scarlet is waiting for them.

"Come on, cup of tea first. And somebody wants to see you..." She moans at the loss of close contact, but follows him in, kicking off the heels. It's a nice house, fairly sparse, and he does indeed have a large sitting room, opening on to the kitchen. As Harry busies himself putting the kettle on, and feeding Scarlet, Ruth wanders through the space, spots the high end cd player and turns it on. A concerto by Vivaldi starts to play, and, grinning, she calls back to him,

"I can't dance to this, Harry!" He gestures to the shelving behind the machine, and she takes that to mean she should choose something else. Taking a closer look, he has a remarkably broad taste in music... some of it, she'd never have suspected. Passing over the classical section, and Glenn Millar, Django Reinhardt, Elvis, and swiftly past Led Zeppelin, she finds herself in the musicals, and grins wickedly, as she pulls out a case, and slips the disc into the player. She moves to ensure his face is in her line of view when the the clarion tones of Barbra Streisand ring out, and she isn't disappointed.

"Not quite what I was expecting, I must confess." He hands her a strong cup of tea, and on taking a sip she's pleasantly surprised to note he knows exactly how she likes it. She follows his lead and sits down on the sofa, but before they have a chance to get any closer, Scarlet is up between them, demanding attention, which they readily give, their hands meeting, pausing and intertwining in her rough hair.

The mugs emptied, and Scarlet contentedly curled up under their hands, Ruth looks over at him, and says coquettishly;

"Didn't you promise to warm me up?" before standing, and pulling him with her. "It seems appropriate" she adds, and it takes him a moment to realise she's referring to the opening bars of the song: _Put on your Sunday Clothes. _

"You know your musicals then?" He answers his own question, "of course you do." As the song begins properly, he pulls her into a close hold and guides their steps as they glide round the room. First it's a fast waltz, and he rescues her from tripping more than once. Two thirds of the way through he adds in a few jiving hops and spins, and breathlessly, Ruth lands his arms as the song ends.  
She's resting her head on his shoulder, giggling and panting, and he thinks, not for the first time, that she is the most attractive woman he has ever seen.

They're swaying now, ignoring the song playing in the background. He raises a hand to brush away some stray hairs off her face, and then crooks a finger under her chin to raise her lips to his. It had taken some doing to stop kissing her before, but he knew that if they were both to feel good about this in the morning, it required making sure that they were both entering in to it on an even playing field, and preferably just a little more soberly than they had been... He is not going to be the boss who gets his staff drunk and then takes them home for a lewd shag - especially not where Ruth is concerned. Where Ruth is concerned...he gives a slight moan as he feels the softness of her body pressing into his.

She has given herself over to the feel of being kissed by him, not sure how she survived the fifteen minutes between them entering the house, and this moment. If it wasn't for the fact that they'd have to leave her mouth, she'd want those lips to be kissing her all over. One of her hands is around the nape of his neck, fingers twining through the tiny curls there. The other is on the small of his back, holding him as close to her as she can manage. She can feel his fingers on her shoulder blade, her back, her thigh. Trailing her own lower down his back, to his buttocks, she grasps firmly, causing him to gasp, and push her backwards a couple of steps so she's leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.

"I don't feel like dancing anymore..." she whispers, moving her fingers round to his cheek, touching at his moist lips with her thumb. "At least, not that type of dancing." As he presses in, his hips close against hers, she can feel a reaction that says that her intentions are sincerely reciprocated. It would seem that Harry Pearce, debonair Chief of Section D, is lost for words. She worries at his lower lip with her teeth and tongue. "Upstairs, hmm?"

"I should...very much like that." His voice is rasping and hoarse, and his eyes seem to be devouring her then and there. The intensity of his gaze makes her legs turn to jelly underneath her, and so it is he who takes her by the hand, pausing only to turn the CD off. They make it as far as the door before she's pulling him back to her for another kiss, hands working at his shirt buttons, so she can feel his skin next to hers. Tantalised, one hand moves up to the zip opening he noticed earlier, and lets it down just enough to be able to push the capped sleeves of her dress further down her arms, and free just enough of her chest to his own touch. As his fingers trail across the silken skin he finds there, she moans deeply into his ear.

"If you don't get me to a bed very soon, I won't be held responsible for my actions, Harry." Reluctantly, he moves his fingers back to her free hand - the other relentlessly stroking his torso - and, walking backwards, guides them to the stairs. There he pauses, considers her for a moment, and before she's realised it, he has scooped her in his arms, and is carrying her up, two steps at a time.

"Harry!" she's protesting laughingly, but not struggling too much because she doesn't actually want him to drop her, "I didn't think you had it in you!"  
Reaching the top of the stairs, he dips his head to hers,

"Cheeky! I'll get my revenge for that!"

"That's twice you've said that tonight, I hope you're going to live up to your promises..."

"Haven't I already shown you that I always do?" They're at the door of the bedroom now, and he's pushing it open, and moving for the bed, in the dark. She can see by the street light that it is large, with a soft white duvet, and that the floor across which they're moving is dark polished wood. But now he has laid her down, so gently, and is stroking her face with a finger. "Oh Ruth... You have no idea how I've longed for this."

As she pulls him down on top of her - it's easily done, as his position was unbalanced - she whispers in his ear,

"I think you'll find I do. Almost as much as I have, at a guess."

"Christmas come early for both of us, then?"

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**A/N**: It is my intention to leave this here... but i'm not going to mark it complete just yet, in case inspiration strikes again... ;-)


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